Yesterday
was my daughter’s thirteenth birthday.
George and I drove over to her mother's
house with presents and homemade cookies. Hazel locked herself in the bathroom
before we got there and stayed there the entire time.
The tension inside that dark little house
was thick enough to taste. The curtains were drawn shut and the windows were
closed tight on one of the prettiest July afternoons of the summer. It felt
like the sunshine wasn't allowed inside.
We waited around, hoping she
would come out. Maybe we could watch her open her presents and sing Happy
Birthday.
George spent most of the visit bird-dogging
the birthday cake. He really wanted a piece. We left without seeing Hazel. No
hugs, no presents opened and no cake.
The drive back across Mannheim Road has
become one of the saddest drives of my life. This one wasn’t any different.
I thought
about the two gifts I picked out.
One was The War That Saved My Life, a novel about a young girl in
wartime England trapped inside a house by a troubled, controlling mother. I
have no idea if Hazel will ever read it. Maybe she will never crack the cover.
Maybe she will read it soon. I just hoped she would find a character who
reminded her that life can become much bigger than the walls around you.
The
other gift was Abbey Road. Well...it's
the Beatles.
Those four Liverpool lads helped raise me.
They carried me from nursery rhymes to the Rolling Stones. Hazel has heard
those songs her whole life. More than once she fell asleep while I sang Golden Slumbers to her.
Later Friday night my
phone buzzed.
"The Beatles? I don't
even listen to the Beatles. And a book...geez, thanks a lot."
I smiled a little. Not because
it felt good, but because she is thirteen. I'm betting that book gathers dust
for quite a while. The record, though...
At some point she will put it on a turntable, and in a long time from now, Here Comes the Sun, Mean Mr. Mustard and Come Together may remind her of her grumpy Oldman the same way Gershwin, Bix Beiderbecke and Dvořák remind me of mine.
Music has a funny way of carrying people
long after words stop working.
Many of you Chalkheads have
walked beside me these last few months. You have sent prayers, stories and
encouragement that have meant more than you will ever know. You have also
reminded me that difficult seasons between fathers and daughters happen more
often than fathers want to admit.
I wasn't prepared for this
chapter. Truthfully, I don't like it much, but I also know that thirteen isn't
forever.
Neither is adolescence. Neither is
resentment. Neither is pain. Children grow up and parents keep loving them
anyway.
This morning I'm going to wash Felix the
Ford Flex. I am going to fill him up with gas. Then I'm heading up to Oak Park
Bakery for a chocolate éclair.
Yesterday wasn't only
Hazel's birthday. It also marked five years until my last payment to the mean
lady west of Mannheim Road.
Time keeps moving. Sometimes that is the best
friend we've got.
Go enjoy this last
Saturday of July, you gorgeous Chalkheads.
Gusto, astonishment...and custard
filling.
